


when the cat’s away

by kay_emm_gee



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 09:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11964411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: His neighbor’s cat was a menace. Always had been, since the golden tabby and his owner moved in four months ago. He constantly hacked up his latest meal right in the center of their shared porch, camped out in the path of car tires with no care for drivers running late, and scratched up all of the wicker patio furniture out back. And then there was his persecution of Artemis.Under other circumstances, Bellamy would have no problem telling his new neighbor that her cat was an asshole. Except, well--this neighbor wasn’t just anyone. It was Clarke, his little sister’s college roommate. He could tell a stranger their pet was being an asshole; he couldn’t tell Octavia’s best friend that.





	when the cat’s away

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a prize for my 3k follower celebration giveaway. [carrieeve](http://archiveofourown.org/users/carrieevew/pseuds/carrieevew) requested a fill for the following prompt: '‘I’m thinking ‘your devil cat won’t stop terrorizing my dog’ for Bellarke. Thank you, once more!’'
> 
> Hope you (and others) enjoy it <3 <3

Swearing, Bellamy crouched down once more to peer under the front porch of his duplex. Artemis was still cowering in the dirty, cobwebbed depths and did not seem to want to come out any time soon. Treats weren’t helping lure her back into daylight, so Bellamy was contemplating using the good salmon he’d cooked for Sunday family dinner as further incentive. To be honest, if he was the one with scratches all over his nose, he might hide in a dark corner far away from any felines too.

His neighbor’s cat was a menace. Always had been, since the golden tabby and his owner moved in four months ago. He constantly hacked up his latest meal right in the center of their shared porch, camped out in the path of car tires with no care for drivers running late, and scratched up all of the wicker patio furniture out back. And then there was his persecution of Artemis. Bellamy’s dog was overly friendly with anything that moved faster than a Roomba, but dogs being friendly was  _normal_. It wasn’t her fault that the neighbor’s cat was an unsociable asshole who lashed out at anyone--besides his owner--who got closer than a foot from him.

And under other circumstances, Bellamy would have no problem telling his new neighbor that her cat was an asshole. Except, well--this neighbor wasn’t just anyone. It was Clarke, his little sister’s college roommate. He could tell a stranger their pet was being an asshole; he couldn’t tell Octavia’s best friend that.

Miller insisted it wasn’t because of the Octavia connection, but because he had a big fat crush on her, which--alright, Clarke was hot, and funny, and smart without being obnoxious about it, he could admit that much. But despite Miller’s dry mutterings and eye rolls, Bellamy wouldn’t say he had a crush. After all, he really couldn’t have a thing for someone who had an asshole for a cat.

Sighing, he gave in and laid full out on his stomach. Pushing himself all the way under the porch, he crawled towards Artemis. Bellamy snorted as cobwebs, decaying leaves, and dust stuck to his face. Artemis was starting to move forwards though, and so he kept going. Once he was close enough, she began licking him and whining happily, which made him regret less the amount of dirt that now coated him. He groaned as he pulled her out, stood up, and lifted her up.

Her tongue stuck out to the side as she panted up at him in relief. He rolled his eyes fondly and placed a quick kiss on the top of her head before carrying her inside.

* * *

From the kitchen, Bellamy heard Octavia grunt as Artemis jumped onto her lap.

“What are you feeding her?” she groaned. “She weighs a ton.”

“Maybe you’re just getting soft.”

His sister just snorted loudly in disagreement. She then started to cooing and murmuring nonsense praise at his dog. When he walked in the room, she made a noise of sympathy and stroked Artemis’ scabbed nose.

“What happened there?”

Bellamy didn’t reply, just fell onto the couch next to her.

“She sneaking out to dispense vigilante justice? Got injured in the line of duty?” his sister teased.

“Fighting a villain, yeah.”

Octavia looked at him in confusion, and he sighed.

“Clarke’s cat is an asshole.”

His sister laughed. “Yeah, obviously. I’ve had plenty of battle scars from Picasso too. What other type would she have?”

“Don’t pets usually resemble their owners?”

“What, you think Clarke’s  _not_  an asshole?”

“No?”

Octavia looked at him like he had two heads. “I mean, she’s my best friend, but she can be asshole, sometimes. Most times it works in my favor because she’s only that way to other assholes, often of the male persuasion.”

“Well, she takes out the trash and never plays music too loud. She’s a good neighbor.”

“Don’t know why, when she’s living next to an asshole,” Octavia said dryly.

He flicked her temple and she pinched his shoulder in retaliation. Artemis hopped in between them and rolled over with a bark before it could escalate, and Bellamy took up rubbing her belly.

“So Clarke is a good neighbor,” Octavia repeated slowly.

Bellamy knew that tone, and so he added quickly, “Except for her cat.”

“Mmm.” Octavia was staring at him, and he didn’t like it at all. He needed a distraction.

He picked up one of Artemis’s dog toys off the floor and squeaked it, riling her up off her back. Her wagging tail whacked Octavia in the face, to which she sputtered in response. Soon enough his sister took over playing tug-of-war with the dog, and Bellamy let out a little breath of relief.

* * *

Almost late for work, Bellamy barreled out his front door and toppled right into Clarke. He managed to stay standing, but she fell back from her crouched position right onto her butt.

“Shit, sorry,” he muttered.

She let out a little laugh and looked up at him with a wry smile. “I’m the one basically squatting on your welcome mat, and you’re the one apologizing?”

He huffed embarrassingly and extended a hand to help her up. Her fingers were short and calloused against his palm, and her grip was firm. Bellamy almost didn’t want to let it go--but he also didn’t want to think about the why of that.

Realizing he was just standing there staring at Clarke--even later than before, now with coffee dripping from his travel mug and his mind a damn mess--he took a breath. “So, did you need something? Or do you just make a hobby of camping out on doorsteps?”

“I thought I had kicked that particular vice, but your frame was just too charmingly worn and chipped to pass up.”

At the teasing glint in her eyes, he shook his head and smiled. “Are you implying that I’m skimping on upkeep?”

“I think it gives off a quaint lived-in vibe. Which, given that I signed a lease here, I support wholeheartedly,” she added quickly in clarification.

Bellamy grinned as she laughed softly. Then, she continued, “Besides inspecting your door, I was dropping off a gift.”

He tilted his head in question. She stuck out a package towards him, cheeks pinking just the slightest. Now even more curious, Bellamy took the small, cardboard box from her and opened it. Inside was a little jar. He lifted it up to eye-level and saw there was a thick, opaque ointment inside.

“My friend Luna has a shop where she sells homemade pet things. Food, treats, supplements, and...wound salve.”

“Ah. Octavia talked to you.”

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea Picasso was going after Artemis. He isn’t usually so territorial--or aggressive.”

Bellamy must have made a face, because Clarke furrowed her eyebrows. “What?”

“Uh, nothing.”

“Ah. Octavia,” she drawled in an echo of him earlier.

He rolled his eyes and chuckled. “She might have mentioned some face-offs with Picasso in the past.”

“I swear, I thought he was getting better since college!”

“As of last month, he stopped hissing at me when I walk past him in the morning. I considered that progress.”

Clarke dropped her head and groaned lightly. “Damn. I suppose I’ll start keeping him inside more.”

“Artemis would be in favor of that, at least some days of the week.” He paused, then added, “I could make a schedule? We could alternate days on who gets the run of the outside.”

“I suppose that’s fair. If only the kids could learn to play nice,” she quipped wryly.

“They are better than some of my students, at least,” he replied, which drew a soft laugh from her. He smiled on reflex at the sound, because Clarke had the bright type of laugh that made you want to. Fumbling at the sudden warmth in his gut, he almost dropped the gift as he tried to fit it in his bag.

“And now I suppose I’ve made you late,” she realized, sounding sheepish.

Bellamy shrugged. “My students won’t complain about that. So, really, you’re just making them like me more.”

Clarke grinned and then moved back towards her own door. “See you later, Bellamy.”

He nodded goodbye, then headed towards his car. He felt her watching him, and it took him twice as long to start his car because he kept glancing up to see if she was still standing there. She was, and she waved to him as he pulled out the driveway. And in Bellamy’s opinion, that wasn’t a bad way to start a Monday.

* * *

For a few weeks after they finally worked out their pets’ outdoor schedule, Bellamy found himself looking for another reason to talk to Clarke again. Sure, they had a few in-passing conversations on the porch and texted here and there, but nothing more than casual. Miller thought his helplessness was hilarious and gave him no assistance but plenty of shit about it. Bellamy was working himself up to asking her over for dinner with Octavia--which was a terrible idea, as his sister would see through that completely and make it purposefully awkward--when Artemis gave him a great, if unfortunate, cause to see Clarke again.

His sweet, if not too bright, dog had decided the salve was not only healing but delicious. After only a few applications, she had found it on the counter and licked the entire jar clean. He checked Luna’s website and found nothing dangerous in the ingredients list, but now he was without the salve. So, on a Saturday afternoon, he found himself ringing Clarke’s doorbell under the pretense of asking for more.

She didn’t answer after the second ring, though he knew she was home, as her car was in the driveway. After two more rings, the door finally opened, revealing Clarke dressed in a ripped white t-shirt underneath baggy jean overalls, with both her clothes and her covered in bright yellow paint.

“Not a fan of eggshell colored walls?” he asked.

“Is anybody?” she replied with a grin. “Finally got a few days off from the hospital and figured it was past time to liven the place up.”

He nodded in agreement, then asked, “You have a minute?”

“What’s up?”

“I’m wondering if you have more of that salve. Seems ‘all-natural’ is code for ‘delicious’ in dog terms, because Artemis thought it made a great afternoon snack on Thursday.”

Clarke covered her mouth with her hand in amusement. “Oh god. Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” Bellamy sighed. “Just figured I’d be preemptive in getting some more before we need it.”

“I think I have some more. Make yourself at home, and I’ll look around.”

She disappeared into the kitchen, and despite her offer, Bellamy remained firmly in the entryway. It was only when she called for him again that he ventured further inside. Her kitchen was minimally decked out, with a few plates in the sink and a small folding table with two chairs crammed into the corner. Even so, it felt lived in, and Bellamy suddenly wanted to see the rest of it.

Clarke was on her tiptoes, searching through the top shelf of one of her cupboards. She let out a small exclamation of victory which made him smile, and she had a matching one when she spun around.

“Knew I had a spare jar around here somewhere,” she said as she presented it to him.

“Thanks. Artemis will appreciate it.” He hesitated a minute before asking, “You need any help with painting? I’m good at getting the high-up places.”

Clarke raised her eyebrows. “You calling me short?”

“Just advertising my strengths,” he retorted with a half-grin. “Octavia can vouch for me in that respect, if you need a second opinion.”

“I’ve always been one to form my own, so let’s give you a trial run, hmm?” she teased as she motioned him towards the upstairs.

Bellamy grinned. “You’re on.”

* * *

Bellamy felt pretty damn good when Clarke grudgingly admitted he was more than a little useful when it came to painting. He felt even better at how happily she took him up on his offer to help tackle her kitchen, which was still a disappointing plain white.

“I’m still not sure about the orange,” she said for the sixth time since leaving the hardware store.

“ _Tropical tangerine_ , you mean,” Bellamy replied with a grin. Clarke slapped his shoulder, and he rolled his eyes. “The woman seemed very adamant about getting the names right.”

She made a gagging sound, and he laughed. When they got back to their homes, he turned off the car and immediately snatched the paint chips from Clarke’s lap.

“I need those!”

“You’re just going to obsess over them and then you’ll change your mind and  _then_  we’re going to have to spend another afternoon talking to that woman. No, thank you. I’m confiscating them until you can be trusted.”

Scowling, Clarke climbed out of the car and flipped him off as she headed for the stairs.

“I’m doing this for your own good,” he called after her.

It might have done her good, but it did him just the opposite when Miller spotted them sitting on his kitchen counter a few days later.

“Did Octavia talk you into this?” he commented as he waved the samples at Bellamy with a frown. “I’m not fucking help you again, man. You can level your painter’s tape on your own this time.”

Bellamy flipped him off. “They’re not mine.”

It took Miller only a beat, and then he laughed. “Christ, just ask her out already. It’s gotta be easier than performing manual labor for her, especially not the fun kind.”

“At least I’m not breaking my electronics on purpose to have an excuse to talk to the person I’m into,” he shot back.

Miller flipped him off with both hands and then went into the living room to start up his gaming system. “Proof of principle,” he yelled while Bellamy got beers out of the fridge. “I broke shit, then finally asked Monty out. Now we’re dating. I still win this argument.”

Sighing, Bellamy didn’t respond, because Miller had a goddamn point.

* * *

A few Sunday morning coffee chats, two more weeks of texting, one movie night, and an afternoon of painting later, Bellamy hadn’t moved past casual flirting. Not only was Clarke his tenant, but also his sister’s best friend. He had to take this slowly, carefully. Still, he took it as a good sign that she had asked him to stay for dinner afterward they finished her kitchen. Where he was going to go from there--he had no fucking clue.

So, when they finished, he just sat down next to her on her back porch steps, covered in paint, a beer in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other. Close as she was--and had been all afternoon--he could barely focus his attention her story about Picasso and a very brave chipmunk. The knots in his stomach were too distracting, as was the way she kept pushing her curls behind one ear.

He glanced away quickly, worried he was staring too much. To their left, he saw Picasso. The cat in question had watched them warily all afternoon, always lurking just beyond the doorway but never actually entering the bathroom they had been painting. Picasso was now perched on the railing at the far end of the porch, pretending that they--or rather,  _Bellamy_ \--wasn’t there.

“He’ll warm up to you eventually,” Clarke sighed.

He looked back at her with a skeptical half-smile. “And how much time is that going to take?”

“I don’t know,” she said, taking a sip of her beer. She licked her lips, looked at him quickly, then blurted, “I guess it depends on how much time you plan on spending over here.”

Bellamy couldn’t look away from her after that, but she kept staring straight ahead at their backyard. After a deep breath, he prodded, “You have more rooms that you need help painting, then?”

Her cheeks reddened, and he looked at her more intently.

“Clarke,” he said, voice dropping low. He watched her bite her lip before she turned to look at him. He almost laughed, because she had such a challenging look on her face, as if she dared him to keep up the pretense of ignorance. Bellamy almost kept it going, just to get a rise out of her. It was fun to argue with her. She was too damn close, though, smelled too damn good, and he wanted her too damn much.

So instead, he put down his mostly finished beer, rested his hand on her bare knee, and leaned forward to catch her in a kiss. She met him halfway, fingers brushing his neck before softly curling into his hair. He shivered, and it wasn’t from the chilly breeze that came with the sunset. It was from Clarke, her warmth and intensity, the way she kissed him with hesitant purpose. When he finally (reluctantly) pulled away to catch his breath, he took a moment before opening his eyes.

When he did, he saw her smiling at him, and over her shoulder, a flash of gold.

“Seems he doesn’t approve,” Bellamy commented dryly.

Clarke turned when he nodded his head, and they both watched Picasso scampering off into yard. She snorted, then said, “Sucks for him,” she murmured. “I’m pretty into the idea of you being around more. He’s just going to have to accept that.”

Bellamy laughed. “Artemis won’t be a problem.”

“Are you saying you have the better pet?”

“Are you saying I don’t?”

Clarke slid an arm around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. “We’re both biased. I vote for a third opinion.”

“I’m still gonna win.”

“Maybe,” she muttered reluctantly, and he chuckled. After a slight pause, she asked, “You want another beer?”

“Maybe.”

Clarke stood, and he followed. They made it into the kitchen before she had his arms around him, which was only just before he was leaning in to kiss her. By the time they were stumbling upstairs--still intertwined--they both had fresh splotches of paint on their clothes.

“We better not have to paint again,” she breathed as he slide her shirt over her head.

He laughed. “But look how well the first time turned out for us.”

Rolling her eyes, Clarke pulled him closer for another kiss, and Bellamy smiled as he lowered her onto the bed.

* * *

_A year later…_

“Told you the sleepovers would work,” Bellamy murmured into Clarke’s hair.

She looked up at him in the dark, skeptical. “Uh-huh.”

He pulled her closer, still reveling in the satisfaction that this was  _their_  bed now, not just his. “The kids are getting along just fine.”

“I don’t know if ‘just fine’ is what I’d call it,” she argued softly. “It’s more of an uneasy truce.”

“Artemis understands Picasso needs his personal space, and Picasso only hisses at her once a week now. I think that’s the best we’re going to get.”

“He got jealous of all the attention Artemis was getting from us. I suppose he’s figured out being nice has its benefits.”

“Or he’s biding his time until he puts his plan to murder us all into action.”

Clarke cracked up, her frame shaking against his side. He squeezed her close, feeling content. After a minute, Bellamy heard scratching at the door. Groaning, he got up and let his dog into their bedroom. Immediately Artemis jumped up on the bed, and Clarke immediately sat up to pet her. She cooed at her, and Bellamy sighed, wondering how his girlfriend managed to spoil his dog more than he did.

Just as he was about to close the door, Picasso appeared. He sat right in the doorway, swishing his tail in aloof contemplation. Bellamy waited patiently until a minute later, the cat stretched and sauntered into the room. Once Artemis had settled into Clarke’s side, Picasso hopped up and curled into a tight ball at the corner of the bed at Clarke’s feet.

“Progress,” Clarke repeatedly happily.

Bellamy huffed doubtfully but crawled back into bed anyways. Artemis nosed his neck, licking it once before snuggling back down.

“So glad we got the bigger bed,” he grumbled.

“It’s cozy!”

“It’s crowded.”

“You love it,” Clarke hummed. “Now go to sleep so the grumpies will go away.”

“Night, Clarke.” He paused, then murmured, “Love you.”

“Love you too, asshole.”


End file.
